It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man, in possession of a blue trans-am, must be in want of a high school virgin to feed to his shapeshifting mother/lover.
So goes Sleepwalkers, the film that dares to combine explicit incest and sexual assault with cute cats and campy one-liners. I think it somehow works, not really in bringing together unlike things to create a brand new wonderful flavor, but rather just careening from scene to scene of omg wtf like is this for real.
Cats. I really just want to talk about the cats.
According to Amazon, Sleepwalkers is "Terrifying, Gritty, Bleak." To this I would also add: "Totes Adorbs."
Last week I had my face melted by the pyrotechnics of Firestarter. But that doesn't hold a candle (cat-dle?) to the feline training-technics of Sleepwalkers. How do you train a herd of cats to act together? Oscar-purrthy performances all around. I know I know, but look at their tiny little faces! Their little paws!
The only ones not amused are the shapeshifters, who, isolated and driven out from society, are forced, like a lonely soul scrolling into the night, to confront angst's perennial foe: oodles of cuteness.
Cats are angels that poop in a box!
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